Homecoming: The Tale of the Precursors
by EpsilonX029
Summary: It's believed by many that the forerunners of Oceana were entirely wiped out by worldwide sea levels rising. However, recent discoveries had led to a new possibility: did Humanity die in its infancy, or Could it have somehow escaped the cradle? And more importantly, where did they go?


This story came to me in a burst of inspiration after playing Splatoon 2, which I've played for a while now, and thanks to the influence of many other articles of Sci-Fi media, the likes of Fallout, Mass Effect, Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare, Alien Vs Predator, Star Wars, Star Trek, Ben 10(goofy for this list, I know) and a handful of others which escape me at the moment, I came up with this (hopefully) interesting take on the Splatoon universe. It'll be a bit all over the place, as I know I will like to place references, but I hope you'll bear with me, and help me make something truly good. Now, enough shenanigans, let's boogey! :)

 **Prologue : A Retrospective of Humanity**

February 29th, 2124 A.D.  
Washington, D.C., United States of America

From the penthouse room of a tall skyscraper, located near to Capitol Hill in what was once a great country, a middle-aged man with an early-onset head of mostly grayed blonde hair slightly staggers up to a camera he's placed on a tripod. Standing at five foot, eleven inches, and sporting a 5 o'clock shadow, due to a lack of time to shave, he appears quite somber as he prepares to record a message with it. He is jittery, befitting the shot nerves of his body, due to working tirelessly for nearly two days straight. As he reaches for Record Button, a nagging curiosity overtakes him, and he turns his head to look out of a north-ward facing window.

What he sees doesn't entirely shock him, but nonetheless instills a feeling of dread deep into his very soul. On the most distant horizon, most likely a solid 15-to-18 miles from where he is, is what seems to be a gray-black shadow, or blanket, perhaps, encroaching towards him at a snail's pace, against the backdrop of an orange, sunset sky. What it truly is, he knows, is his demise, and most likely, his whole Race's, as well. A final nail in the coffin, for Humanity as a whole. The deadly cloak is in fact a massive wall of water, the likes of which has never been seen before. A Tsunami rushing across the ocean and land, caused by a mass collapse of the Arctic ice shelves in a way his people never entirely saw coming. He had, befitting his profession as a climatologist, been predicting the inevitable: a world-wide ecosystem collapse, caused by a one-off rogue pathogen wiping out Mankind, or perhaps a bacteria that targets farmed produce, that would have choked humanity in a slow spiral of starvation. This literal wave of death? Not a single being on Earth had even been close.

Seeing the wave, his shoulders slump slightly, his tension draining almost physically from his body. A sigh escapes his lips, and he runs a hand over the hair he's slicked back towards the base of his neck, as an old habit of his resurfaced from some time ago."Well, Damn," he states abruptly, his voice airy and quiet, "Guess I'm running behind... Almost a relief, really," he speaks, somberly, as his complexion drains of color upon uttering those words. "At least I know it's almost over... I suppose there's no time like the Present." The rigidity of his motions is now gone, as he realizes his borrowed time has, at long last, finally run out. Nervous energy turns to fluid movement and he readies himself to see precisely what Armageddon looks like.

Pressing "Record", he walks over to a nearby sofa, with the North-facing window, and the subsequent sunset it shows, being the backdrop behind it. He sets down, and sighs through his teeth, and looks up, his blue eyes meeting the lense of the camera with a tired look. Not entirely satisfied with what he plans to say, he begins to speak, anyways.

"Well, I suppose... a greeting would be the correct way to begin." He lifts his right hand, and waves it left and right, in what is generally considered an informal hello by his kind. "Hi, there. My name is Doctor Elijah Arcturus. I'm a 42 year old male specimen of the species called 'Human'. I'm currently sitting in a building which will... likely not exist in 10 minutes." Dr. Arcturus lowers his hand to his lap with a thump, and sighs, before continuing, "Not really sure if any of that matters terribly, but I suppose you'll have reference material, whomever you may be." He brings both hands up, and clasps them together, resting his elbows on his knees, before in turn propping his head up on his knuckles. He lets out a shaky breath, before he looks up again.

"I'm recording this message as, well, a eulogy, of sorts. Our kind faces an apocalypse of our own design, brought on by greed, a lust for power, and a stigma of bloodshed dating back thousands upon thousands of years," he spits out bitterly, a scowl crossing his face, knowing very well that mankind condemned itself to oblivion. "I will give you a brief history of our peoples, and where we went wrong. I truly pray you can translate this, as I highly doubt you'll speak anything close to English, or any of our written or spoken languages." He sits up stock straight, both hands now folded in his lap, and he looks towards the camera. "My only wish... That our mistakes are never to ever be repeated." He shivers noticeably, knowing that his goal, from the beginning, was to help his people, not warn the next race, or even otherworldly visitors, of what happens. He is also aware that this is no longer possible, and so, he's come to his last resort. His eyes become dewey as he maintains his composure.

"Long ago, some of our earliest ancestors evolved to uphold tribal societies, upon which our civilization came to be. I'll spare the nitty gritty details, so I'll get to the point. In what we called the 20th Century, roughly..." He pauses for a moment, a hand to his chin. "We'll say two hundred years, or two hundred orbits of this planet, ago. Anyways, around then we discovered fossil fuels, flammable oils left behind in great quantities by ancient, multi-million year old lifeforms, and began refining these crude oils into fuels." During this process, he attempts to mime a "two hundred" in midair, but simply settles for holding up two fingers due to a lack of digits. "The 'gasoline' we developed from these sources ran our entire world-wide economy for generations, many many years. The major drawback? The combustion of these fuels produced harmful chemicals and greenhouse gases, which both damages our planet greatly." He becomes noticeably frustrated after saying this, lightly striking both fists down into the sofa at either side of him.

His next sentence begins in a low growl. "Of course, no one then had the insight to even THINK about what it was they were doing," he grumbles, more annoyed than outraged. "They chose to ignore so many vital signs that could have helped stop-..." As his voice starts to rise, as he, himself, rises from his seated position, he realizes that the statement he was about to make was, in fact, false. "...No. No, we couldn't have stopped it. Only prolonged the inevitable..." He sits down on the couch harshly, remembering what this record was for. "...It spiraled out of control. Our planet suffered greatly, and we could not slow it. Only make preparations." He leans forward again, meeting the recording device's well-focused eye with his own bloodshot ones. "Given enough time, our world was sure to collapse. Rationality would say that we'd have grouped together, in a desperate attempt at survival, but... that couldn't be further from the truth," He speaks firmly, "As my people jumped at the chance to allow any one country to survive over the others. Rather than cooperate, they made war machines, and fought each other."

His brow furrows again. "Use of their General Infantry units meant no actual death on any side. It did, of course, mean mass uses of resources that would've been valuable elsewhere," He says, as he seems to recall something. What it is, he never makes it clear, as he proceeds on with his explanation. "Over the years, our entire western coastline became nearly uninhabitable, as it dried up due to changes in the weather, whereas our eastern sea board became a veritable battleground of weather, destroyed by souped up hurricanes." He glances at a clock, off-handedly, before continuing. "The warfare took its toll. Many countries in our world became barren wastes, as people fought petty wars over them. In the Late 21st Century, we finally outgrew our dependence on gasoline... but it changed nothing." Another sigh, as he continues, "We kept fighting, and it finally seems Earth could handle no more. Mass extinctions of living species befell us, and we resorted to worse and worse standards. Personal militaries became the norm, and people began to make a literal killing. All because we developed the Gravity Manipulators."

He seems to become aware that he's rambling, and doesn't have much time, and gets back on track, "It was finally brought to the forefront that Earth was battered, broken, and, worst of all, dying. I helped break that, at the ripe old age of Sixteen." He chuckles quietly, seemingly amused by his little funny, but he quickly becomes serious again. "It became apparent that drastic measures would be needed to break through the coming hardship. Once more, collaboration would have seemed the wisest choice, but being what and who we were, chose to go it alone, metaphorically speaking." He looks up at the ceiling briefly, as it would appear he makes a choice to speak something that, perchance, he considers taboo. "Russia chose an old Human method: Build a big great wall around their home, and refuse any and all outsiders, stating 'Only they would survive.' Of course, their wall didn't survive the force of the wave from the shelf collapse, and last I heard, Russia fell first," He mumbles, knowing of millions dead already by the nightmare tsunami. "China increased their military, seeking all nearby lands to annex, and gather all the resource they could. Even now, I don't know what they're planning. Japan devoted so much time into cryogenics and suspended animation research, yet refused our help. And Korea..." He trails off, disturbed by something truly macabre, " In a rage driven by denial, their leader ordered a two-year long purge of every single living thing in his country's area, starting with rodents and other animals, before he moved to his own citizens, and finally, his own governing body. He, himself, fired the last two rounds, executing his own right-hand man, stating that 'By his death, and the death of all his followers, God does abandon Mankind to suffer.'" He shakes himself, apparently to rid himself of this thought.

"The people of my Government, the United States of America, came up with what they considered the _only_ solution: Exodus. They made plans to leave the world," he states, a slight sense of awe seeming to fill him. "Project: Ragnarök, they called it, naming it after an old religion of our Norse people, Ragnarök itself being their own Apocalypse. It really was fitting, in the end, huh?" He asks no one in particular, still seeming fascinated but downtrodden simultaneously. He shook his head, and turned in his seat to look behind him, the ever-expanding wave of slate on the horizon seeming much larger now, but he still had time. "From what I know, they're prepping the people to go aboard now. A group of 500 humans, most selected by genetic makeup and health, with a handful of government officials on board as well," He stated quickly, trying to remember precise details of what he was told. "Among them, thanks to an old acquaintance, is a group of aspiring young protectors, who seek to help Mankind stave of its demise as well," He thoughtfully spoke, knowing very well of the foolhardy but compassionate ones he spoke of. "Maybe they can do it. I suppose here's to hoping, eh, Val?" A sudden noise startles him, and he turns his head, and gasps loudly. In the distance, he can make out the sound of car alarms being set off as the very ground begins to rumble.

The towering wave of water has reached his city, and he has but seconds left. Knowing this, he turns back. "To whoever finds this, let this be a warning," He speaks quickly, "To never take, for granted, the worlds on which you live. Respect life, and the right of freedom to all." In the background, the massive wall is nearly upon him, a sound like rushing water being picked up by the camera's microphone. "And remember: together, any task, no matter how insurmountable, can be accomplished." He breathes a sigh, knowing his task is all but done. In his final moment, he picks up a backward-facing picture frame, and looks at it, before clutching it to his chest. "My name is Doctor Elijah Arcturus," He says, " And no matter what, I know life will spring back on Earth. Just watch." In his last few seconds, he smiles, and looks at the picture, never to be seen by the camera or its' viewers.

At long last, with a thunderous crash unlike any truly imaginable, the window behind him goes dark, before the wall implodes from behind, smashing into him, the sofa, and the building itself with the force of a meteor screaming into the planet. The feed of the camera abruptly cuts out, into only blackness.

* * *

June 11th, 2019 M.E.(Mollusk Era)  
Sunfish Digsite, a remote location on the Far end of the world from Inkopolis.

Carefully moving a brush around a semi-buried object, a being, who superficially resembles a human, attempts to carefully unveil the object, using the brush to erode away the earth near the object so that he can extract it intact. At first glance, one may mistake him for a human, though his stature is quite small in comparison. His eyes, which are squinted, are emerald green, and, save for the goggle-shaped band of black surrounding them, seem just as human. That darker portion seems to be wrinkled from middle age. Upon his head, rather than bristles of protein, are large masses of it, forming what appear like orange tentacles. They are mostly bunched up, however, and stuffed into the tan pith helmet he wears. He has on a white button-up shirt, mottled with dust and mud from his digging, and on his hands are black fingerless gloves. He wears long olive green pants, an oddity for his people who generally prefer shorts, with black thick-tread boots on his feet.

The object he's been attempting to excavate? He's not entirely sure, but it's his job to find out. Its a good size, bigger than his hands put together into fists, and an off-white color that seems familiar. At last, as he moves the brush for a sweep, it jostles slightly, and he gets a bit giddy. Setting the brush down, he gently takes both sides of the object into his hands, and applies the lightest pressure, slowly gripping harder as he realizes it won't simply crumble, before he finally tugs at it. As it pulls away from the dirt, he holds his breath, praying that it didn't fracture apart. At last, he breathes a sigh of relief, as the object is whole, though it left a curious indent in the ground...

Wondering exactly, he rotates it, only to gasp lightly and almost drop the item. What he sees: two small, circular holes in the side facing him, with a smaller triangular indent between and beneath the circles, and what seems like a row of bumps along the bottom. This one is a true keeper, alright: an intact Precursor Skull! He stands up swiftly, and chuckles a little, knowing he's made a discovery for sure. His kind always found ruins here, but they had never found proof to connect it to Precursors, until now. He jogs to a nearby folding table, and sets it down on it, inside a border to prevent it from falling. As he observes it, he notices some telltale signs: little-to-no fossilization, implying this was relatively recent, maybe even right to the end of the Precursors. He also notes that the bumps at the base, the teeth, are somewhat rounded, suggesting the specimen was in an older stage in life. Was this, perhaps, the last one left alive? An abstract thought, to say the least, but a fun one, to be sure.

His slight daydream is interrupted by a voice calling out to him, in a language they call Inklish, his own native tongue. "Hey Skiff, I think we got something big over here!"

Shaking his head, the Inkling known as Skiff shrugs off his mild fantasy, and breaks into a jog towards the voice. Nearby, in a small dip in the land, two more Inklings, one a male with blue eyes, grey tentacles hanging down the back of his head, and an outfit quite similar to Skiff's, save for an extra olive drab coat over his shirt and no hat; the other, a female, with silver eyes, a single pink tentacle draped down her back, and wearing a forest green t-shirt, khaki shorts, and similar boots. Both are staring down at what seems to be a horribly bent up tripod with something attached to the end. Sliding down to the two, Skiff pauses to observe the uncovered item, before looking up and simply asking, in his gruff voice, "Well, what the heck is it?"

The young female of the two, Shye, responds, "I'll be honest, I'm not fully sure. It doesn't quite look like anything of ours." A quick glance from Skiff shows what seems to be a grey plastic football-shaped object at where the "tripod" tapers up to.

"First logical thought:," Says Shaun, the other male, who is also quite young, "It's a camera. But it doesn't seem to have a lens, or viewport, or anything." Skiff looks at him, and glances down at the foreign entity again, before looking back at the two.

"Either of you mess with it, yet?" He asks, squinting ever-so-slightly at them. The two youths' eyes widen, and they both shake their heads, fearing what their mentor just might do if they were to tell him the wrong answer. "Well, then," Skiff continues, as he crouches, "Normally, I'd never do this, since it ain't what we should do, but sounds like messing with it may just be the _right_ order this time." Shye and Shaun both drop their jaws; he'd hammered that into them so much at the beginning of the expedition! But before either of them could react, he crouched down, picked up the item, and stood back up, collapsing the partially functional tripod(he was now convinced it was one) together. As it seemed the mystery football was likely where the secret lie, he began to examine it.

Or he would have, if it hadn't partially opened as soon as he made contact. The sudden occurrence of the action startled him so badly that this time, he _did_ drop the item, with it only being saves from possible destruction by a quick reaction by Shye, who reached out and grasped it as it fell from his hands. As Skiff caught his breath, coughing a few times, he looked up at her in gratitude. "Thanks, kid," He said with a genuine smile to her, "Dropping that could've ended my career. I owe you a bunch." Shye merely smiled bashfully, glad that she could help.

As all this happened, Shaun looked down at the item, only to realize he could see into it, and what was there was incredible. "Look!" He exclaimed, before thrusting his arm into the gap created by the now flayed-out container, much to Skiff's displeasure, but they all fell silent when they saw what he has in his hands. "It really is a camera, isn't it? Why such a bizarre choice of container?" Shye sat the tripod down, and looked carefully at the recording device in Shaun's hands.

Skiff laughed lightly once more, before speaking up. "There's a major difference here," He spoke to them, as the young ones looked up at him from the camera. "I've seen a few, cuz of course our own cameras are made like theirs, but..." He gently lifted the item from the boy's hands. "If this isn't functional, I'll eat my hat," He spoke, eliciting a giggle from Shye. "Ladies and gentlemen, we may have just got a hold of the world's first recorded footage of the Precursors."


End file.
